


As Haven Burned

by jazziemi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Flash Fic, Fluff, Minor Spoilers, Puppy Love, Short One Shot, Spoilers, possible series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazziemi/pseuds/jazziemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thank the Maker, he kept repeating to himself. Thank the Maker she’s alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Haven Burned

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fanfiction in ages hehe wELP

Cullen cursed himself under his breath after he set off the flare once the Inquisition was a safe distance away from Haven’s crumbling walls, praying to the Maker that He deliver His bride’s Herald back safely back. Why didn’t he just stay with her and help? She didn’t need to stand alone against that monstrosity; that _Elder One_.

 

He turned to the sea of Haven’s survivors, gazing over each one of their burned and bruised faces. Soldiers and civilians alike, all of them clung to each other for support. Mages holding up wounded Templars, Cullen closed his slightly agape mouth and pushed a small satisfied smile to his lips. The unity in the ruins of disaster will never fail to swell his heart with pride.

 

A deep rumble shook the frozen earth, eyes darting to the mountainside as an avalanche roared down towards an ablazed Haven - towards the Herald herself. Fear immediately seized Cullen’s heart, golden eyes wide as the rock and snow collided with their makeshift fortress. The Chantry’s stone crumbled, wooden homes crushed and crunched under the impact.

 

Choruses of horrified gasps and screams overtook the crowd of Haven’s salvaged, knowing full well that if there were survivors, there wouldn’t be any longer. The Herald included. Cullen’s feet twitched, ready to bolt towards her, and then Leliana’s hand befell his armored shoulder. Her steady gaze told him to stay put, that the Herald was a strong woman. Of course Leliana was right, she usually was.

 

Cullen sets his jaw and his fingers clench to a fist for a moment before releasing them. He had faith in the Maker, in Andraste, in Vanmoriel; she would return to them.

 

“Look!” A voice rose above the quiet roar of the snow storm building outside the alcove the Inquisition’s camp had stationed inside. Cassandra is the first to leap to action, disbelief expelling her lungs as stares off passed a craggy wall of rock into the storm.

 

“She...she is alive!” Her heavy Navarran accent dripping with breathless hope. Cullen nearly toppled over, the sigh he didn’t know he had be holding falling out of his lips -- heavy, he shuffles his feet forward and sprints towards the Herald’s glow. With Cassandra on his heels, he catches Vanmoriel as she falls to the snow.

 

“Thank the Maker,” he breathes, holding her small frame close to his warmth as he could possibly manage. His heart seized at her chill and small, shallow breaths. Cassandra places a hand on his shoulder and stares down at their Herald -- her sunset hair frozen with white frost, skin and lips pale and chapped. How long had she been wandering for? A few hours?

 

Cullen’s hands splayed over her shoulder, her back, just to make sure she was really still there and that she wasn’t dead. Her dull woodland scent relaxed his shoulders, as well as the steady rise and fall of her chest. “Cullen,” Cassandra breathes, her hand tightening on his shoulder. “We must get her to warmth, lest she freeze to death.”

 

“O-of course.” Carefully, he slips an arm underneath her knees and lifts her in his arms. Her eyelashes frosted, she blinked slowly as she attempted to scoot herself closer to his warmth. Cullen found himself gazing at the curve of her facial tattoos, finding redness from the chill on her cheeks and the tips of her long ears. A soft squeeze of infatuation took his heart at the soft whisper of her thanks to him.

 

 _Thank the Maker_ , he kept repeating to himself. _Thank the Maker she’s alive_.


End file.
